Half Writer, Half Engineer, Maybe None at All

I like to think that I didn’t find the world of writing, but that the world of writing found me.

I didn’t start writing on Medium like most writers here, with a vision and passion that motivated them from a young age. It all started the day a friend asked me for help writing some music album reviews for the page where she works. Then I realized that this was something I could do and earn money doing it.

The next thing I knew, I was signing up in Fiverr offering writing services. I started out writing travel destination reviews, Amazon product descriptions, and even the About Me page of an adult content site (it’s a dark place I don’t want to talk about).

Virginia Wolf said: “Writing is like sex. First, you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for money.”

I started writing for the money first, it was a good way to pay for school, I thought. It became something I liked along the way. Sort of like the plot of Pretty Woman.

A few years have passed, I am about to graduate from Engineering school, I work on a project that I love and I am proud to belong to (MindsMatter) but I feel like a piece is missing.

I don’t feel like a real writer, nor do I feel like engineering fills me with passion. If I’m somewhere in the middle, then I’m nothing at all? I used to think I’d be an engineer at day and writing would be my night job, but I can’t help but feel like that plan won’t work.

So what if I graduate only to find that a 9 to 5 job is not my thing? So what if I put everything I have to write and it never turns into a steady job?

I feel like my only two options are to be a miserable engineer or a homeless writer.

Perhaps this is all the result of a typical case of imposter syndrome. Maybe it’s the inherent anxiety of being 25, they call it the quarter-life crisis. Maybe I’m doing what I do best which is overthinking and everything will be okay eventually. I am surrounded by love, understanding, and incredible people, from my family to my coworkers, I just have to play my cards, hope for the best, and prepare for the worst.

“Traveler, there is no path, the path is made by walking”
— Antonio Machado

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